Spark of War Read online

  As though reading his mind, Kalvin said, "Maybe becoming the First Councilor will be more important than you thought. You certainly just weathered that storm better than I could have."

  Jaekob walked out, leaving the crèche worker behind, but didn't give a response. What could he say? Kalvin had a point--just not one he was happy to hear.

  Together, they walked in silence to the Crèche Coordinator's office to write their reports. It was better to get that responsibility out of the way, instead of making people come look for him.

  Just before he opened the office door, Kalvin said, "Just think about what I said. About the army, and about your title."

  Jaekob frowned as he headed inside. He had many things to think about.

  #

  Scene 05-A

  Jaekob walked through the market chamber closest to his house and then took a little-used tunnel out. At the first intersection, he turned left, and at the next, he turned right. That tunnel wound back and forth like a snake for a few hundred yards and led to a dead end. Old barrels and broken crates were stacked everywhere toward the tunnel’s end.

  He looked over his shoulder and sniffed, but didn't see or hear anyone. He quickly slid a stack of crates to one side, which revealed another tunnel. It was rough-hewn, and he had to duck to walk into it. Once inside the tunnel, he slid the crates outside back into place and then headed down the tunnel. It went ten feet, then made a sharp turn. After another ten feet, it opened into a chamber.

  He smiled. Unlike the secret tunnel, the chamber was of a good size, some forty feet in diameter. A big crack in the ceiling allowed a slight breeze. Perfect for his purposes. This was his private forge room, with anvils and a dozen different hammers, half a dozen tongs, files, and a granite block with a slight curve on top, lined with leather. All around the walls stood shelves, half of which were loaded with dozens of small sculptures. As the shelves traveled around the chamber, the sculptures grew in both skill and complexity, a testament to his developing abilities.

  A short "tap" with his breath aflame lit the coal in a granite standing fire pit, his forge. A second entryway on the far wall led to his coal room, which although being only half full, it spilled out into his main chamber a little bit. He had enough to last years, or so he imagined.

  "It's good to be home," he said, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. It wasn't his real home, but he spent every moment he could, there.

  He picked up his current project, a clockwork person in full dragon form. It was half finished, but already he could envision the piece as it would look when done. It was definitely his finest work yet. He stared at it for a minute and mentally ran through ideas for what to add to it next, until he settled on one that would work. Metal brackets could be bent and welded to form a stark spine and ribcage, and would buff to a high shine when he finished building the sculpture.

  He set the dragon back down on the shelf, then turned to go to the forge, but he stopped in his tracks when he realized that someone stood in the doorway, silently.

  Once he realized it was Kalvin, his adrenaline started to fade, replaced with irritation. "This is my sanctuary. I don't mean to be rude, but... leave."

  Kalvin smirked. "You thought I didn't know about this place? Of course I did. I just know this is your sanctuary, so I left it alone.”

  “Keep doing that.”

  Kalvin shook his head. “I’d love to. I don’t like interrupting you here, but we need to talk."

  "No, we don't. I need to work on my sculpture, and you need to go find your own hobby." Jaekob forced a smile to take the sting out of his words.

  Kalvin ignored him, leaning against the chamber's entrance. "Look, I'm kind of worried about you. Something in that abandoned cavern spooked you--"

  "I'm fine."

  "--and the more I think about it, the more I think you need to talk about it."

  Jaekob's fingers grew white as he clenched a pair of tongs in his hand. "There's nothing to talk about."

  Kalvin shook his head. "Um, yeah… no. I'm not buying it. When we were in that abandoned chamber, you reacted to that necklace I found. I want to know why."

  "And I don't feel like talking about it." Jaekob went to a box of gears and other parts, and started rummaging for the brackets he'd need.

  "You can turn your back on me, but I'm not leaving. You're my friend, Jaekob. Just tell me what spooked you."

  Anger. Kalvin wasn't going to leave him alone, it seemed. Jaekob slammed the box of parts down on a workbench and spun on his friend. "The necklace."

  Kalvin pushed off from the wall with his shoulder and walked into the chamber itself. He sat on the workbench, legs dangling a couple inches above the floor. "What about it?"

  "It was my mother's. Not just like it, but the exact one." Jaekob looked at the floor. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

  "That can't be. How on Earth would that get way out there, from so long ago?" Kalvin cocked his head and let his legs swing. In any other circumstances, it would have looked funny, but Jaekob wasn’t in the mood for humor anymore. "It really wasn't that long ago. It was stolen from her during the second German great war. That's a fuzzy memory, since I was hatched into the Sleep between the two German wars. Still, the memory is clear, what little I do remember."

  "How did your mother pass? I'm sorry, it's just, you never talk about that." Kalvin hopped off the table and then leaned against the workbench next to Jaekob, shoulders touching.

  Thinking about the necklace brought that memory hurtling back to Jaekob's mind, along with a hundred other little scenes involving his mother. "I have only bits and pieces. I was really young. My father says she died in a place much like the one where we found her necklace. Times were lean during the second German war, and even in my family, we had to scavenge for us to survive. Other scavengers wanted what she'd collected. You know the rest."

  Kalvin's jaw dropped, but he quickly snapped it shut. "They killed her."

  Jaekob nodded. "Of course they did."

  "Tell me about her." For once, Kalvin didn't try to lighten the mood with a joke. He just sat quietly and waited.

  Jaekob was grateful for the moment of silence. His eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to ignore the salty stinging sensation, and sniffed back from a nose that threatened to run. "She used to sing to me at night. It was the only way I'd go to sleep.

  "Through all the caves and caverns dark,

  We prowl the depths of ground below.

  Dragons rising leave bloody mark,

  With fire, elves, and trolls, aglow."

  Kalvin put his hand on Jaekob's shoulder. "Yeah. My mom sang that to me as a kid, too. Kind of bloody for a hatchery rhyme. There are a few more verses, right?"

  "I can't remember them all, just that one. She would brush my hair with her fingers as I fell asleep on her lap. She was always like that--quiet, strong, patient." Jaekob let out a long, shaky breath and wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  "I remember she made the best minced-meat pies. Compared to mushrooms and crystals, those pies were amazing."

  Jaekob smiled wistfully, nodding, as the memories flooded back. "Thanks. Before times got lean during the humans’ war. You know it means a lot to have someone remember her, besides me and my dad."

  Kalvin put his hands in his lap, fingers entwined, looking down. Jaekob was glad he pretended not to notice the tears. "No matter what else happens, you know that I got your back. We've always had each other's backs, and we always will. You're like a brother to me," Kalvin said, still looking down politely.

  Jaekob had to wipe the tears from his welling eyes yet again. "Thanks. I miss my mother, but it's easier to deal with when I have a friend to talk to about it.”

  "Really? You have a friend?"

  "Shut up, man," Jaekob snorted, and punched Kalvin in the shoulder.

  #

  Scene 05-B

  Jaekob removed his goggles and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shop rag, one of the common, che
ap ones made from fungus fibers. Using real cloth would have been an obscene display of wealth, and a waste. He carefully examined his piece, a miniature dagger he had just finished curling into the shape of a lower rib for his project—the bigger uppers were made of hammered-out brackets. Satisfied with the tapering and angle of the curve, he plunged it in oil to cool it; that would keep it soft enough to forge-weld it to the sculpture easily. Annealing it for toughness would come later.

  Stepping away from the forge and his fine-work anvil salvaged from an old railway off an abandoned human mine long ago, he pulled off his leather work apron and set it on its hook. Turning around, he half-jumped when he realized he wasn't alone in his shop, but relaxed after he recognized Jewel. At least this time, it was a most welcome interruption.

  He put his hand to his chest and feigned pain. "Don't sneak up on me like that! You trying to give me a heart attack?"

  She gave him a faint smile as she stepped up to him, but it didn't reach her hazel eyes. She made a show of flipping back her shoulder-length hair, the color of wheat ripening in the sun. "My beauty has that effect on men. Sorry."

  "What, making them want to shriek in terror and die of fright?" Jaekob grinned. She was beautiful, but not what most would have called a "classic beauty." Her eyes were just a fraction bigger than most, set slightly wider than most, with the longest eyelashes he'd ever seen. High cheekbones and a narrow jaw framed her mouth, which was a little smaller than most, but her lips were pouty even when she wasn't pouting. Her skin was flawless, muscles toned from years of working in her father's blacksmith shop.

  He could look at her forever, but only if she wasn't watching him do it.

  She punched him in the arm. "Jerkface." Then she gave him a hug, which surprised him more than her sudden, silent appearance in his shop, and she held on for just a second longer than was polite in public.

  His face flushed, and he felt his heartbeat quicken again, as it always did when she touched him.

  She stepped back at last, her hands on both his shoulders. "We need to talk."

  Uh oh. "Sure. What's up, Jewel?"

  "You know I like you, right? You're my... best friend. And I love spending time with you. I just want you to know that."

  He fought the growing urge to frown. "Of course. You and Kevin are my best friends. But, you know it's different with you, right?" He felt new perspiration start to build, and it wasn't from the shop's heat. The truth was, his feelings for her were confusing, for several reasons. "I look forward to seeing you when you aren't around. Friends, you know," he added.

  Was that a flash of frown he saw on her face?

  She walked to his workbench and then stood silent and motionless, until he saw her shoulders shake slightly. He felt a flash of irritation. Was she laughing at him? He had told her something personal and she laughed at him?

  He opened his mouth to say something he knew he'd regret, something angry, when she cut him off. "My father says I can't hang out with you anymore." Her voice cracked in the middle of it.

  "I..." Jaekob didn't know how to finish that. She wasn't laughing at all. He walked up behind her and put his hands on both of her arms. Maybe if he held her there for long enough, she'd stay. "Why?" he asked, trying to keep his tight throat from making his voice crack. "It isn't fair. We're friends. He can't tell you who to be friends with."

  She didn't answer for a couple seconds. It was definitely getting uncomfortably warm in his shop. Please, say something back.

  "Actually, he can. He's my father, and I live in his house. His shop is struggling, and I need to find my own way soon. He hasn't said that, but I see it coming."

  "But I thought the new production for the warriors was going to help with that?"

  She shook her head curtly, and he felt her shoulders shiver under his hands. "Some, but everyone has got contracts. Supplies are more expensive than ever, now. Once the contracts run out, but with prices that are still all jacked up, then what?"

  He didn't have an answer. It was hard for him to understand what it was like, living so close to the margins, but he had a vague understanding that most dragons lived like that and not as he did. He struggled with a wave of anger he didn't really understand. Finally, he found some words to say. "What does that have to do with you and me? Why does that mean your dad gets to tell you who your friends can be?"

  She turned suddenly and wrapped her arms around him, planting her face on his shoulder, and he felt the wetness of tears on his skin. Hesitantly, he put his arms around her, too. The sensation of her pressed up against him made the over-warm temperature feel unbearably hot, all of a sudden. The hug lasted far longer than the two seconds any friends should share.

  Still with her arms wrapped around him--and his skin felt electric where she touched him--she said, "I don't really understand why this has me so upset. It's my dad's job to look out for me until I move out. He's said no to my friends before, and he was always right. But not this time."

  He felt her begin to shake under his hands. "Why did your fa say that? I don't understand!" He could hear the urgency in his own voice. No doubt she could, too, but for once, he didn't care.

  "He says I need to be worrying about egg-bonding with someone or working toward my own shop, not 'just hanging out with friends who won't help you do that.' He says you're a nice guy, but..."

  "But, I'm the future First Councilor, not a possible business partner."

  "And not an egg-partner."

  Why had she said that? Had she thought about... No, they were just friends. She must have only meant that he had nothing to offer the daughter of a poor blacksmith, either personally or professionally. He fought the urge to spit out a string of curses, then paused to wonder at his own anger. He'd never felt that rising rage when other people had told their sons and daughters not to be friends with him. He just hadn't expected that from Thomaes, the smith with whom he’d been friendly since he had been just a new-awakened child.

  An idea struck him. Excited, he unwound himself from her--as difficult as it was to make himself do that--and looked her in her eyes. Her reddened, tearf-filled eyes. "Jewel, I don't want all that. I've been thinking about telling my father I'm not following in his footsteps. Let someone else rule the dragons, it's not what I want in life. So you see, you and I can still be friends. Tell your father. My dad will be mad, but he won't let his son go hungry. He'll set me up well with my own smithy. Or, I could buy out your dad's shop! And hire you both to work with me. Then your father doesn't have to worry about going hungry, and you get your start as a smith. It's win-win."

  Jewel blinked rapidly a couple times, and a faint, almost hopeful smile touched her mouth like the shiver of a ghost passing by. "You can't mean that."

  "I do. I've been thinking about it for a long time. And this is just a sign that it's the right thing to do. Your father has helped me with scraps and tools, letting me use his shop to build my own, and the training took much of his time. He never asked for anything in return. He's a good man, and you're a good friend," he said, voice cracking when he said 'friend.' "This works well. And you and I can see each other every day, then."

  She wiped her eyes and stepped back to a more modest distance. "I can't ask you to do that, Jaekob. You have a responsibility--"

  "No, I don't," he said with too much anger in his voice, and she took a step back, flinching. He barely noticed, though. "I'm so tired of being told what do to. Why do I have to do anything? Just because Mikah was my mother's egg-partner? I'm still a free man, right? I can do what I want. I don't want to rule the dragons. I just want to run a smithy and be friends with anyone I choose."

  She bit her lower lip and stepped toward him again. She raised her arm to put a hand on his arm, but then let it drop to her side. "Do you really think you can get your father to let you do that? I mean... to save my father's smithy, and to get the life you want? We could still be friends, then, or--" She stopped whatever it was she intended to say.

  He would have given anything
in that moment for her to have finished that sentence. "Yes. I'll talk to him as soon as the time is right. In the meantime, we can still see each other, right? You can come here to see me. Your father doesn't need to know. I mean, don't lie to him--just don't tell him. After I talk to Mikah, I'll have a conversation with Thomaes about the idea. Okay?"

  She rushed into him and wrapped her arms around him, again. "Yes, okay. Besides, you're a terrible blacksmith. You need me around to teach you not to be so terrible."

  He glanced at his half-finished sculpture, which was definitely turning out to be his best work yet. With Jewel still wrapping him in a too-long hug, he smiled into her hair and with his enhanced dragon senses, he took in her scent, a mix of coal, oil, and her own scent. It was one that he could smell forever, if she'd let him. It was odd he never wanted to smell Kalvin, but he shoved that thought away and went back to enjoying his current predicament.

  He said, "Only because you don't have to split your time between blacksmithing and the stupid Warrior training my father puts me through. I'll get better."

  "I think you're good enough already," she murmured with her eyes closed, cheek resting on his shoulder. It would have been awkward explaining how close they were if anyone walked in, but at that moment, he didn't care at all.

  #

  Scene 05-C

  Sweat trickled down Jaekob’s back as his three opponents regrouped. He adjusted his grip on his spear, his leather gloves creaking. He took advantage of the lull in the fight to glance over his armor for damage or blood.

  He was young, so his chest and back armor cuirass was only made of bands of steel, not dragonscale, but his father was wealthy enough to have had the metal tempered in dragon blood, making his cuirass near-impervious even though it was light-weight and looked weak. He had a helmet, made of the same, but didn't like wearing it. It cut down his peripheral vision and hearing.

  Dragonscale of every color was used for the armor covering his shoulders, forearms, and lower legs from knees to ankles; those really were impervious to most things. He'd learned that from history lessons as a kid that told of dragon experiences during the second German war. He also had learned there were always gaps and weak points in any armor, where a lucky thrust or skilled warrior might find an opening.